Christmas letter 2006

Christmas Letter 2006

To all my family, friends, associates, strangers, drunken wandering drug dealers, my personal FBI agent, and the entire Nigerian mafia:

Merry Christmas!
(another long letter… sorry )

Another exciting year has passed; now taking the form of my 3rd annual Christmas letter for all to enjoy, grieve, learn from, and shake their heads at. A trip down memory lane… a simple way to look at life and realize it’s okay to not be normal or perfect, because who wants to be like that, anyway? Not ME! As with my previous Christmas letters, I realize the length of the letter may seem a little long, but I trust you’ll enjoy the reading, so don’t tossed it aside as just any ‘ol Christmas letter. Before I get started down memory lane, I’d like to thank those who’ve had the guts (or insanity) to join me throughout the year. To some: a high-five! To others: my deepest apologies…

In the beginning,
there was January. That cold, dreary month with post-Christmas blues and nothing to really look forward to… unless you snowboard! If you recall my 2005 Christmas letter, my snowboarding skills stepped up to a whole new level in December. I found new skills that just ‘clicked’ in my brain. The new skills enflamed my desire for the slopes – landing me on five different mountains with nearly a dozen trips between January and the end of April. Crystal Mountain near Seattle was the furthest I traveled to play… and I’m definitely going back!

I found myself willingly dropping into tree wells, taking small jumps and even a couple black diamond runs. Well, my first black diamond run wasn’t something I really wanted to do. My buddy Chris decided my introduction to a black diamond run would be best served at night, in fog too thick to see more than a couple feet, and without warming up with some smaller runs. He just said, “It’s a bit steep, so keep cut’n hard and you’ll be fine.”

Excruciating leg pain and terrible crashes with terrifying polar bear slides filling my coat with snow does little justice to describe that grand event. I met him at the lift at the bottom, barely able to keep upright… “That was your first black diamond,” he said in a cheerful tone terribly offensive to my condition, so I punched him in the chest. Punk! No, I didn’t hurt him, but I got my point across… so we did it a second time. Perspective is everything when snow boarding. The first time down – “I’m going to die!!!” Second time down – “What the hell was I thinking doing this twice!?”

I know going to the mountain alone is typically something frowned upon, especially after nearly breaking my wrist on my second attempt way back in January, 2005 – alone. But hey, that was last season… I’m a whole new snowboarder, right? Besides, when schedules don’t work out, why wait? So I didn’t. I tried to get my snow boarding compadres, Chris & Ariane to go to Mt. Hood Meadows with me, but they had other things they needed to do… as if there are more important things in life. Sheesh! They eventually gave in to my finely executed peer pressure and said they’d join me for night skiing at Ski Bowl (on Mt. Hood).

The two of them, in their great understanding of the injuries I’ve suffered in the past, and care for my personal wellbeing, advised me to wait for them. Yeah, right… I launched off early to spend a full day to at Mt. Hood Meadows, but a little thing got in the way called a blizzard! Snow drifts enjoyed erupting violently in front of me, apparently trying to devour the Jeep in the blinding flurry. Sliding sideways was pretty exciting, but not being able to see anything beyond my windshield turned the thrill ride into a white-knuckled trip-of-terror.

Ever find yourself praying out loud without realizing you were doing it? This was one of those times. And that’s before I found out Mt. Hood Meadows was closed. I guess 60+ mph winds were a bit too much if people are meant to actually stay ON the ski lift. Details, details. So, in the blinding blizzard, I crept / slid my way around the mountain searching for someplace to play. I’d gone to the far side of the mountain and I refused to leave without some serious play time.

I had to ask myself: was this a sign that I shouldn’t be on the mountain alone??? I mean, a Jeep-eating blizzard would be a pretty big sign, I suppose. You see, in the past I’ve ignored signs that warned of terrible, tough times ahead… so I ignored this one, too.

Not being inclined to give up easily, I used Chris as my cell phone reference guide to find available ski lifts. So, I made my way to Ski Bowl, where Chris and Ariane were going to meet me for night skiing later that evening. In sheer delight, I shredded my happy snowboarding self all over that mountain for more than 5 hours straight! Then I crashed hard. Crashed, as in ‘fell asleep in my Jeep’ for an hour or so before going back for more.

Before long, the happy couple arrived, turning me into the ever-present third-wheel. The great thing about these two is that even though they are perfect together (like Ying & Yang), they each connect with me on various levels… which means I don’t mind being a third-wheel at all. Now, if you recall the injuries from my previous experiences, you’ll be surprised to find out that I was not the one to get hurt this year AT ALL. But instead, that gorgeous night at Ski Bowl resulted in both Ying & Yang getting injured. Like this…

Ariane (who seems to always lead the run down the mountain), dropped over a hill out of sight, only to be found at the bottom of that hill cradling her hand … turns out she nearly broke her thumb! For a massage therapist, that equals disaster. Not too long after, Chris went flying down the slope toward a rather large jump that he’s landed pretty consistently, but he wanted to make it BIG this time. I’ve landed it a couple times, but usually ended up on my stomach, arms spread wide in my famous polar bear slide.
Occasionally I accompany my patented slide technique with a barbarian war-cry and claw marks dug deep into the snow… until I stop, that is. Then I just brush off the snow, gather up what’s left of my pride and keep going. But this is about Chris… let’s continue.

I waited with Ariane down the slope anticipating The Great Jump. She was armed with the digital camera, ready to capture his amazing flight. Me, I just sat there cheering him on as he picked up some serious speed approaching this monster jump.

From where I was sitting, I watched my comrade launch his body into the air in near perfect form – like a cruise missile wearing a helmet. Ariane mumbled that the camera batteries died as her airborne hubby flew through the air and into the shadows. To our shock and dismay, he ended up crashing like an old Iraqi scud missile. Ka-Thud! Fortunately, just like most scud missiles, he didn’t explode. He recovered enough to slide out of the shadows, down to where we waited for him. He didn’t want to admit it at the time, but he hit his head pretty hard. By the time we rode the lift to the top again, he finally admitted the severity of the head trauma – a concussion blacking out the sight in one eye. Yep, time to go. The two left the mountain with their injuries and I came out unscathed! I mean… uh, er… sorry they got hurt and all that…

Chris and I
found the perfect opportunity to hit the slopes one last time on April 29th – Ariane was out of state! Not that we wouldn’t have wanted her to join us, mind you. We took off to play at Mt. Hood Meadows for the day, and what a day it was! A storm was approaching; scheduled to hit the mountain around 2pm, so it was a race against time, really. Remember the last storm I ran into on Mt. Hood? See page 2.

Before the storm hit, the clear blue skies warmed up the slopes, turning them to slush and our faces red and blistered. Chris got the worst of the burn, but we had matching lines on our foreheads from the skull cap/ bandanas we sported. Yep. Two guys with matching sunburns… a bonding experience? Uh, no.

Chris lead us to a black diamond run called Powder Keg, and I watched him fight his way through slushy moguls… which didn’t look fun to me – too much work! So, I let the crazy child side of my brain take over, and I slid down that mogul monster on my butt with my board stretched out in front of me… I flew over the mounds of moguls, launching slush and snow into huge plumes in front of me, leaving a butt-print scar down the face of Powder Keg. Chris just about died laughing at me as I passed him like a 6’4” eight year old (his description) having the time of his life!

Well, not to be outdone by my beautiful slide down Powder Keg, Chris had to display his own acrobatic skill, which would have been pretty amazing if he actually planned it! So here it is from my perspective: He was cruising down a wide gentle slope, nothing too exciting… until he did a perfect cartwheel right in front of me! Well, not exactly perfect, he didn’t use his hands; he used his head and shoulders instead. The ‘perfect cartwheel’ planted his head deep into the snow, leaving a watermelon-shaped hole in the snow with indentions where his shoulders hit on either side. Remarkably, he flipped right back up onto his board and kept going for nearly 20 feet before dropping to his butt looking at me with a quizzical expression!

I think his words were “Uh, what just happened?” And as a true friend concerned for the health and wellbeing of his fellow snowboarder I said “That was AMAZING!!!” Within an hour, the storm front moved in catching us on the ski lift, trying to rip us to pieces. When the lift feels like a Magic Mountain ride gone bad, it’s time to go. They closed the place shortly after...

So snowboarding season ended with a new love for the sport and zero injuries! Well, for me no injuries, at least… I thought the tides had turned in my favor this year. I was sadly mistaken.

Keeping things
as chronologically accurate as possible, I should mention a couple other things about this year. I got a tattoo in February – an angel and a demon fighting it out. 4 hours of pain! It’s very detailed and intricate. I didn’t throw up, I didn’t pass out, and I kept breathing just like the guy said I should do. Oh, it was on a blind date, too. I’ll leave that one alone, k?I picked up partner dancing in April or May… I don’t remember exactly, could’ve been March. I started with triple-time, East Coast swing. I took three attempts before my body figured out what my brain wanted it to do! Unfortunately, the Albany / Corvallis areas do not cater to East Coast swing, so I went with West Coast Swing, which is very technical, and nothing like East Coast swing. I was warned not to try it until I’ve done other dances for a while. HA! Don’t tell me I can’t do something. West Coast swing is probably my favorite dance style. And I can now say I have a little experience in waltz, night club 2-step, and Lindy Hop. I even sampled some meringue, cha-cha, single time swing, foxtrot, and tango; and now I’m diving into Latin dance with Salsa! Who would’ve thought….? Yeah, I get a little grief from my friends. They play basketball and volleyball while I run off to dance with a bunch of girls. I think their perspectives are a bit skewed.

Oh yeah,
I graduated in May with my Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration: Management & Communication. Seven years of nearly non-stop school finally came to an end! (Please stand by for a bit-o-brag’n): I managed to pull off a GPA of 3.96! Not bad for a guy who barely passed high school with a D+ / C- average, eh? Will I get a MBA? The jury’s out on that one. I want to experience life without school; enjoy some freedom from self-imposed duties and responsibilities… But I accidentally filled my schedule up pretty quick and now I don’t know how I even fit school into my life!

In June
I went kayaking with Chris and Ariane on the North Santiam River, which is always a blast of scary fun… and on this particular trip, the injuries I avoided on the slopes caught up with me on the river. The area known as Fisherman’s Bend tried taking my life last year, and saw me coming down the river this time; waiting to strike… and it did.

I bounced through the mass of shifting, boiling, surging, curling currents-of-chaos and almost made it through – almost. The final bend curled suddenly, and I couldn’t react to the changes fast enough and I flipped upside down instantly! One thing I’ve learned is that I’m top-heavy while sitting in a kayak, which means I’m upside down a lot more I should be. Chris, for example might flip once for every six of mine! I also learned to patiently wait upside down… with no air… with the fishes… and the rocks… in the bitter, cold darkness. It’s a very difficult place to find patience.

In this particular instance, patience decided to abandon me in my time of need. I think it had something to do with the fact that my helmet smashed against a rock, feeling like I’d just been attacked by a river monster wielding a huge aluminum baseball bat! With patience nowhere to be found, I panicked, using sheer force to roll back up instead of technique. Yes, you can muscle your way to the surface, but the technique is where the art of the roll comes in – it doesn’t really use too much muscle when you do it right. But for me, I really wanted more air and less head beatings, so I muscled my way up and paddled straight for the shore.

After pulling my fear-drained body out of my little blue boat, I found the wind was taken out of my sails and a small chunk was taken out of my helmet. For more than a few minutes, I surrendered to the river. It won that battle this time. Getting back on the river was a bit tough at first, but necessary. I tell my boys to get back on their bike when they crash; I had to treat myself with the same wisdom, right? I was shaken, but eventually came out of it, with the pleasure of the rapids returning in no time.

A short time later, I realized the muscles around my right shoulder blade didn’t like me abusing it while attempting to save my brains from getting smashed into goo. The constant paddling for the remainder of the trip aggravated the injury, and the muscles retaliated by taking nearly two months to heal! My doctor was wondering when I’d be back to see her. The best thing about that shoulder injury is that I finally got to use my AFLAC. That little duck really paid off! *quack!*

You might
think I enjoy putting myself in harms way, but that’s not completely true. You see, I had a couple months where I wasn’t putting myself in harms way, someone else felt the need to… the Nigerian Mafia! Wait… don’t wave this off as a joke. It wouldn’t be in my Christmas letter if it weren’t true, right? Right.

Well, I advertised my motorcycle for sale in July and found myself facing a London based, Canadian supported fraud extortionist group that told me I’m to cash a bad check and send them the money… or else. Of course, I said no, No, NO! Let’s see – cash a bad check = go to jail to find new ‘friends’ giving my Christmas letters a whole different slant, or risk actual violence by an unknown foe. I chose the latter. A series of emails escalated to specific threats on my life, and I didn’t like that all too well. Sure, I’ll slide down mountains on a freshly waxed board; bash my head against rocks on a river, and ride nearly anywhere on my motorcycle, but when I’m someone’s target – that’s not cool.

It finally got to a point of extreme discomfort, and I contacted the local police department, seeking understanding, empathy, sympathy… whatever, I found none.

“Give us the emails and the bad check. We’ll file it and if anything happens, let us know.” The very nice lady said.
“Ma’am, did you hear me say they’ve got my home address and have stated very clearly that my life is in danger?” I suppressed my frustration.
“Well, you can call the Fed’s if you want,” she said very matter-of-fact.
“Hey! That’s a great idea. Thanks.” I said with mocked excitement. Click.

So my call to the Salem FBI went like this:
Ring, ring, ring…
“Special Agent Dan McLoughlin.” A statement. That was it. Nothing like “please hold for 3 years” or “your call is important, please don’t die yet.” Nope. This was a real guy with a real title, and clearly no sense of joy hidden anywhere in his tone – all business.
“I, uh… what did you say?”
He repeated his statement… a little slower this time. I explained what was going on and he acted immediately. No messing around with this guy. He gave me his direct line, his email… and a warning: “This sounds like the Nigerian mafia that operates on the east coast, mostly Florida. Don’t panic about this, but disappearances and attacks have happened. They haven’t done anything in Oregon, so you’d be the first.”

Gasp! What the…!? A little unnerving, to say the least.

“Just don’t cash the check, whatever you do…” he made this very clear.

Well, the threats continued and even became more direct. My personal Special Agent was never out of the loop. He started emailing on my behalf. Very official email, too. “You have threatened the life of an American citizen…..” He mentioned his personal contacts in Scotland Yard and the Canadian version (not sure who they are… Mounties, I guess). He assured me that the internet routes can be traced, although it takes some time and resources. They can hide, but they’ll be found.

After a short while “Joy,” the lady representing the Nigerian Mafia, began emailing both me and my Special Agent, mocking us and threatening to snuff me out right under the nose of the FBI. I think that’s what finally got to him, because a couple of days later he called me up.
“You won’t be hearing from them again.” Another statement. No pleasantries. Nothing like ‘yay! We got ‘em!’ Nope. A statement. And he was right. I’ve not heard a word since. I do wonder what ever happened to “Joy.” Such good times we had together…

The summer
held a few more adventures I’ll touch on just briefly. The theme for summer vacation with the boys – Caves! Dark, cold, spooky ones! The Lava River Cave near Bend was pretty cool until it came time for ‘ol Dad here to belly crawl to get to the end. Yeah, right! I put a stop to that pretty quick. I don’t think the boys will ever let me live that one down. They snatched up the lights and scooted to the very end with a couple other kids to take pictures of each other. I wasn’t alone though. The other parents refused to belly crawl, too!

Later in the summer we made it to the Oregon Caves, where the boys stayed up near the cave ranger asking all sorts of great questions, and commenting about how some of the cave formations resembled certain body parts… they even got a very bitter old woman to chuckle as she waddled along with the group.

My buddy Manny treated a small group of us on a guys-only wake boarding adventure this late summer on the most beautiful reservoir around – Green Peter. The last time I tried wake boarding, I nearly broke my back trying to stand up on the board. The witnesses said my wake was just as big as the boat pulling me. That was before the boat engine seized and we were towed back to the dock. That was last year… But this year, I got up after only a few attempts. AC/DC’s Hells Bells seemed to do the trick for some reason.

Manny stunned us all with his ability to leap over the entire wake! Paul, his brother-in-law, stunned us all with his ability to throw his body into the air, twisting and turning like a great feline in flight. The difference was that Manny landed on the board and kept going, and Paul… well, he didn’t really land as much as explode upon impact. Really, I can’t believe his arms and legs are still attached to his torso!

Speaking of boats,
I have a little, blue 11-foot aluminum boat from 1963 passed down from my step-dad to my brother to me. This little blue boat with its 7 ½ horse power motor was mentioned in my 2004 letter as I ventured not once, but twice into Yaquina Bay at Newport to do some crabbing. Well, this year that little boat was put to use again…

Waldport, just south of Newport, became the focus of the crabbing adventures this year, but before I could head out to the bay I had to do a test run – safety first, right? Well the test run was done on a Friday with my boys. Crabbing was planned for the next day with Chris and Ariane.

The testing ground for the year’s maiden voyage was held at the Freeway Lakes near Albany. The lakes come with a warning from the locals – don’t eat anything you catch, and don’t swim in the stuff that looks like water. Ok, fair enough. So us three boys suited up in our life vests and pushed off to tour the lakes before the boys went back to their mom’s. Now, what could go wrong with a short jaunt around a lake, you ask? Well, if it went smooth it wouldn’t be in the letter, right? Right.

By the time we reached the lake furthest from the dock, the boys alerted me to the fact that water was coming into the boat near the front.
“How fast is it coming in?” I asked.
“It’s shooting up about this far,” fingers spread about 3-inches.
Gasp!
“Are you saying it’s a little geyser up there?” I suppressed my anxiety very well.
“Yep! Are we gonna sink, Dad?” Innocent faces wrought with fear…
“Uh, no. We’re not gonna sink, just start bailing… quick.”

I turned us around and pushed that little motor as fast as it’d go… until it hit a log, breaking a gear pin.

“What happened, Dad?”
“I think we hit something. Just keep bailing!”

The boat barely moved through the water, but we made it to the dock and I fixed the sheared gear pin for the next day’s adventure in Waldport bay, putting Chris on the front of the little boat… poor guy.

Crabbing
On the bay, there were waves and wakes and wind chop that liked to pop up just over the top of the boat… where Chris just happened to be sitting. I had such a good time! Chris was left shivering, wet and cold… oops! My bad. The delight I found was a bit demented, I suppose. I mean, poor Chris was suffering from the wet & cold, pulling crab baskets from the bottom of the bay, and wrestling with some vicious and ferocious crab claws, while I gleefully drove the boat into waves just to watch them erupt onto my friend’s back. He warmed up eventually, and we got some great crab! I seem to recall some choice words he had for me… not suitable for a Christmas letter.

Off the docks of Waldport one night with the boys and Chris & Arianne proved to be mildly successful, but we stayed out until almost 2AM on a work night! Well, a work night for Chris, anyhow. The boys were pretty excited to get to the cleaning station… until they watched Chris slam a living crab against the table edge, splitting it clean in half on the first blow. Their excitement was extinguished instantly! They walked back to the Jeep where Ariane waited; their heads drooped with the grim face of reality carved into their minds. No nightmares, but they lost the thrill of crabbing knowing the fate of each crab caught. As a Dad, I felt some piece of their innocence had been torn away. Fortunately, that feeling lasted just long enough to smash my own crab, and then it was gone. This, by the way, turned into some awesome crab cakes!

My friend Manny decided to use one of my Franken-Tomatoes in making his homemade salsa. A mistake that almost cost him his life! Now, when reading this, don’t automatically start thinking that my recipes are to be feared. Let it sink in for a bit, then fear.

Manny discovered a little known fact outside of the science department of OSU: Franken-Tomatoes foam and sizzle and bubble and stink really bad if they sit in a jar for more than a year. Funny thing is that he almost used some for salsa even after the eruption of enraged bacteria! I called him with the bacteria alert before he used it… so in a way, I saved his life.

Once upon
an afternoon driving through a little one-horse town called Scio (Sigh-O) I realized a couple things. One, there’s a bar. Two, there’s apparently a girl who wears a skirt to the aforementioned bar. Three, there’s a full size Chevy pickup whose owner decided to stare at the skirt-wearing girl going into said bar… while turning in front of me, hanging out his window looking behind him at said girl. Smack! He took off part of the front end of the Jeep. Thankfully the airbag didn’t go off, and he simply said “Hyuck! I was jus’ cruz’n thru town, check’n out da ladies. Sorry ‘bout hit’n ya.”

Gasp! There’s one girl in the town, probably his niece or ex-wife (maybe one-in-the-same). Sick-o freak. Anyhow, my Jeep is fixed but not without some frustrations. So, the moral of the story: stay out of Scio unless you’re wearing a skirt going into the bar.

Thanksgiving
had a special event that just HAD to go into the letter. Let me explain… I visited with my Rick & Connie & family (sister & brother-in-law *more like a brother*) for the holiday. At around 9 PM, Connie and I visited Rick at the 911 center where he dispatches. It was great! He gave me an in-depth tour of his work life, which I truly enjoyed seeing, but probably wouldn’t enjoy doing. He’s amazing at it, though. Anyone who calls 911 in his district will be fortunate to have him on the other end of the phone. Like Connie experienced after we left his work that night.

You see, Connie was driving along the dark, lonely HWY 99E when we stumbled upon a car nose-down in a ditch planted on a telephone pole. A few hundred yards later, we noticed a dark figure stumbling on the roadside. We circled around to check out the car again, when a low-rider Chevy with flames gracing the front came along, pausing for a brief moment only to take off real fast without their stumbling amigo.

Connie stopped the car a couple hundred feet ahead of the stumbler and called 911. That’s when Rick answered in his official capacity. I said “lock your doors, I’ll check on the guy.” (remember this… it comes up again)

I found the guy (Felice was his name) covered in blood and vomit, reeking hard alcohol. The mix was putrid, but sweet… in a disgusting sort of way. Anyhow, I told him to rest at the back of the car; that he needed medical attention. Connie rolled down her window to talk to me (Rick was still on the phone with her), and before we knew it the guy opened the passenger door and sat down! “Oh crap! [not her word exactly] Rick, he’s in the car!”

I hurriedly escorted the guy out of the car, but we both got a clear look at the damage done to the guys face. Felice had a HUGE open wound on his left eyebrow. A role of quarters would’ve fit in the gash! Not kidding. He found out that the cops were coming to help and he didn’t want anything to do with that… so he decided it’d be better to race away toward the Chevy-driving buddies of his that abandoned him a while ago.

Felice probably thought he was running at a pretty good pace, but he really hardly moved much more than stumble, stumble, sway… stumble, sway. I tried to reason with him with hopes of slowing down his amazing blast of speed.

“Hey man,” I used my calm, soothing voice. “You’re seriously injured. You’re hurt and need help.”

“You’re hurt?” He slurred with a quizzical, unfocused look across my face.

“Uh, no,” I tried not to laugh or push him into roadside the creek. “You’re the one that’s hurt.”

Before long, the police showed up and took care of Felice. Without going into details, Felice will be doing a long tour of the state penitentiary for an impressive list of offenses. If there’s a reward, Connie and I agreed to send Felice a ‘thank you’ card from some tropical destination.

The end of the year brought two little babies into the world: Chris and Ariane now have a little bubbly boy named Elijah. And if you visit my previous letters you’ll find my friend Corrie woven through some of the stories. She just had a bubbly little boy named John, nicknamed Jack. I’m an uncle again not once, but twice, and within just a couple weeks of each other!

I’m sure some things were missed in the writing of this ten page adventure, so if you or anyone or anything was left out, please take this apology and stand by for next year.

A glimpse
into the 2007 year gives promise of an amazing story that will be a great adventure on many fronts! I can’t wait for 2007 to develop. I wish I could share what I see coming, but I can’t – for security reasons, of course!

So, until we meet again… Merry Christmas!

“Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.”
Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900)

Christmas letter 2005

Dear Family & Friends,

Merry Christmas!

(It’s a little long again…sorry)

2005....

If you were not subjected to the five-page Christmas letter/ rollercoaster ride of the year commonly referred to as 2004, then just understand that I knocked on Death's door many times and lived to tell the tales... it just took five pages to do it. This year is a tale of a different sort, and I hope you can take the time to ride through 2005 and find some enjoyment in my little adventures…

Allow me to preface by stating that the following events are all very true, with all the details… in fact, there are some details and some people I left out, for no other reason than to keep the letter shorter than it could be. So, with that in mind, hope you’re reading goes well and you have a very Merry Christmas!

This year I decided to pick up a couple new hobbies to fill those few seconds of peace I should have used to extend my life, but who wants to sit still, really? Isn't it enough that we have to sleep? I know... 'Sleep is what our bodies need to recharge'... it becomes inconvenient, in my opinion. Some would say 'that's where you dream and escape reality'. But my life has been strange enough; I think my dreams may be having trouble keeping up.

I began the year with a commitment to learn how to snowboard. After suffering bruised ribs from my first trip, and then a badly sprained wrist on my second trip, both of which resulted in visits to urgent care, I decided crashing violently should be avoided as much as possible. This philosophy changed my approach to the slopes. Primarily, I decided that the controlled 'drop – recover’ technique is not a crash necessarily, but can hurt all the same. 'Drops' tend to bruise the butt, but leave the ego intact along with the bones. The funny-factor was reduced greatly as well. I suspected several people were stopping on the slopes simply to find humor in my crashing. Those same people haven’t been seen on the slopes since. Curious coincidence or fact? You decide.

In my quest for advancing my snowboarding skills, I found a couple other people to leech tips from. Basically, I’m a scrooge and didn’t want to spend the money for real lessons. My friend Corrie gave me some great tips and shared great bits of wisdom, like: "don't be afraid of speed" and "don't run into trees", she had experience with both, as it turns out. At that time and for many months beyond, I recognized that high speed snowboarding actually results in high speed crashes, which then reduce the possibility of a controlled 'drop', turning it quickly into an uncontrolled, body thrashing I had already been subject to in my early trials.

Corrie had a lot of patience with my inexperience, and took the opportunity (during my 'drop - recover' process) to amaze me with a series of flat spins, which I'd not seen before. And after seeing her skill, I began to suspect she may be from another planet... Pluto, maybe; where there's plenty of ice to play on.

My snowboarding adventures ended the 2004-2005 season with 5 trips to the mountain. The beginning of this 2005-2006 season started a little different in that I made 4 trips by the 3rd week in December with 2 more planned before the end of the month. What's different this year?

Well, let me tell you…

I teamed up with my friends Chris and Ariane. You may recall their names from the 2004 Christmas letter, and I haven’t decided if they’re a good or a bad influence on me yet... They too have great patience for my 'drop - recover' method of snowboarding, and gave me tips to improve just a little. Until one day....

I treated my boys to snowboarding lessons just after Thanksgiving. Us three boys stayed with Chris & Ariane at the Eagle Crest resort in Redmond for a couple days and made it to Mt. Bachelor for the boys’ lessons. As the boys learned the ‘right’ way of snowboarding, I beat myself up, as usual, until the very last run. Something clicked for me... suddenly, something started to make sense. But, the day was over and I didn't have a chance to understand it fully. Meanwhile, my boys' lessons resulted in the following analysis of snowboarding (in their words):

"It’s fun to go really fast and crash really hard." - Both boys. (It helps when you're less than 5 ft tall, I guess)

And

"It hurts really bad when the instructor bashes your knee with his snowboard" - JR (he got to ride down the hill on a snowmobile, which I have yet to do)

And

"That was fun, Dad… now, where are the jumps?" - Will

So I realized what I'm faced with: two boys that will quickly exceed my snowboarding skills unless I never take them snowboarding again, or I figure this snowboarding-thing out pretty quick. I chose the latter of the two.

Then it happened: My life changed drastically. Chris and Ariane passed along a tip that enabled me to turn better, fly faster, and do things I had only seen people do... like thoroughly enjoy themselves. The flat spin thing still eludes me, but it seems plausible. I just need to take a vacation on Pluto, I think.

My last trip (just prior to writing this) with Chris and Ariane to Mt. Bachelor proved to be the most fun I’ve ever had in the snow. Yeah, I crashed a couple times. Yeah, I used the ‘drop – recover’ method a small handful of times… BUT I went fast and dodged trees, just like Corrie recommended. I found out later that Chris had us going down a slope that isn’t even defined on the trail maps! My questioning of him later regarding this issue brought a sheepish grin and a comment a lot like ‘yeah, but you made it a couple times, didn’t you? I’d call that a black run.’

So that's the adventures of the mountains, now allow me to regress to the beginning of 2005. You see, I had enrolled in an Adult-degree completion program at Corban College. It's an online course that is very intense, with very few breaks, and is very fast paced. In May of 2006, if all goes well, I will graduate with a Bachelor degree in Business Administration -Management & Communication. It turns out that I can't limit myself to an overload of school work, and snowboarding, I need to fill my life with other things, which brings me to my next little adventure added to my life.

After experiencing the river adventure of last year with Chris and Ariane; nearly losing my leg from infection and coming within a few feet of being launched over a diversion dam, how could I resist the opportunity to learn to hard-shell kayak? I met a guy in Newport who attempted to teach me the famous “Eskimo Roll”, which wasn’t as easy as people make it look. Looking back, I think it was a big mistake for him not to teach me how to get out of the kayak if I couldn't roll it back upright. Breathing apparently is important for staying alive.

So I abandoned the Newport guy and teamed up with Chris to teach ourselves. It eventually worked after about 5 pool sessions and some serious frustration, and we began tackling rivers, such as the one that tried to kill me in 2004; the North Santiam River. I had a bone to pick with that river....

I found out that rolling a kayak in a pool is just a little different than rolling in a river raging through twisted trees and jagged rocks. The first trip down the river proved most difficult. I had to eject from my kayak several times because the river remembered me and found out that I was still alive, and used the opportunity to try and remedy that.

That first trip made it clear: helmets and rocks DO meet underwater, and they don’t like each other; and freezing cold water sucks the energy through your very pores. Another thing became clear to me... my birthday present to me needed to be a dry suit. Now I'm always cozy and warm and occasionally puff up like a marshmallow if the suit still has air in it.

In my new found adventure of kayaking, I've encountered many river-runners that love to swap stories, and I was invited to join a river tour put on by the North Santiam River Guides Association. I agreed to accept the invitation even though I KNEW my skill level was far below what was needed to run the section of the river they targeted. This was the upper section of the same river that kept trying to kill me; a section I had been warned about by a book Chris owned.

Planning for that event caused great fear to well up inside of me. Yet, I did not back down. Sadly, I did not have Chris to help me through with his encouraging words like, "Holy Schnykies!" and "Look what that rock did to my helmet!" and "I just threw up in my mouth". Nope, I had no friends to lend such comforts. Chris did contribute to the event by leaving me phone messages that went like this:

“Yeah, hope you’re having fun… while I’m working.” Click
And
“Chris again… (Frustrated pause)… wanted to let you know I’m still working while you’re on the river.” Click
And
“Hey… thinking you didn’t survive… (Heavy sigh)… told you not to go.” Click

Chris has a couple different moods that have been skillfully identified by Ariane. One of which is referred to as “River Chris”; a happy, bubbly Chris… his messages were NOT the “River Chris”.

The trip had about 24 drift boats, which are like gigantic barges on the river; 3 pontoon boats, which catch a lot of air when they flip; and one enormous raft. I was the token kayaker for their entertainment, it seemed.

In my limited kayaking experience, I had only traveled with fellow kayakers. The river trip taught me many things about playing with others. First, drift boaters drink a lot of beer, and the boats (and some of the people) tend to be really, really slow, like large WWII bombers a couple bombs short of a payload. The caravan of boaters stretched for as far as the eye could see, and I ran into just about every single one of them.

My kayak, as it turns out, is by nature extremely fast and maneuverable; completely opposite of the great behemoth drift boats. Early on in the day I apologized for my collisions more times than I can remember. I even apologized when my paddle got in the way of a drift boater’s oar trying to take my teeth out. After being yelled and cursed at by semi-intoxicated drift boaters and their companions, I decided to launch through the herd toward the front of the line, find a nice rock to hide behind, and watch the passing parade of pickle-brained people. Drift boaters are indeed a breed in themselves. Possibly even inbred, but studies haven't been completed yet.

The river tried and tried to take my life that day, but I came through victorious albeit worn out and suffering from an injured right thumb. To this day, I’m not 100% certain how the injury occurred, except that I know when it occurred. You see, the river has several points of interest along the way with nifty names such as The Boulder Gardens, Carnivore, Spencer’s Hole and Mill City Falls… allow me to explain.

The Boulder Gardens were actually a beautiful stretch of large rocks; each about the size of a dump truck or bigger. They provided a lot of opportunities and challenges to stay upright and for ramming my fellow boaters. Carnivore was avoided for very, very good reasons, like the fact that it will destroy anything that wanders into the swirling mists of death. Spencer’s Hole can be avoided, but who would give up a chance to fly through a river section that gets squeezed from 70 feet wide to 22 feet wide?

You might take this opportunity to visualize what happens to a garden hose when you block the water with a thumb… it gets really fast, really powerful, and really quick. Now, imagine a river doing the same thing (minus a giant thumb); throw in some large boulders and walls of rock on either side, and drop the river by a couple feet. What this creates is a whitewater chute that launches drift boats vertical, spits pontoon boats straight up into the air, and my little kayak…. Well, this is where I hurt my thumb.

Me in my little kayak launched over the first crest, dropping down into a hole that stood higher than I could see out of; we then ripped right through the wall of water before us, only to be hammered and flipped upside down by a side wave that towered over my left shoulder. I didn’t have to depart from my little kayak, thankfully. The entire group of drinking drift boaters was waiting along the banks for my passage and cheered me on as I rolled upright between them all.

The river held one last trial for my tour: Mill City Falls. During that particular time of year, the falls are about 6-8 feet high, and as I watched the drift boats drop over the edge, I heard their hulls smack the rocks with loud clunks. I won’t mention the specific words I was using to express my anxiety… kids may be reading this, but let me say I was very, very apprehensive about going over the falls. But alas, I could wait no more. I was the final soul to throw their lives to the mercy of the river.

I aimed just to the left of the whitewater rooster tail, as the river guide instructed, and paddled my little heart out. What I found was that the water’s path to the left of the rooster tail formed an off-set V that, as I dropped down, hit me first from the right and then from the left, causing a violent whip-action and sending me upside down into the large group below. I was so worn out and exhausted, I actually risked my life by hitching a ride with a drift boater, who smelled like beer, coffee, sweat and cigarettes.

I made several trips down the North Santiam and the South Santiam rivers this summer, and even gave a couple shots at ocean surfing in my kayak, and loved every bit of it. Yes, it scares me… but what else am I suppose to do with my time, right? Well, as you may have guessed (because I’m not ending the story yet) I came up with something else to fill my time….

Early September, I had the flame of my youth reignited: motorcycles. I found myself riding on the back of a street bike a couple of times, and realized I would never be content to stay on the back. Within 2 weeks of that re-ignition, I successfully completed a motorcycle endorsement class, got my license and even bought a motorcycle. Actually, the motorcycle came before the official license. I am now the proud owner of a 2000 Yamaha Roadstar Silverado. It’s a deep, dark purple, chromed to the hilt, modified front to back, is very, very loud and yes, it goes really, really fast. For the benefit of my sister Connie’s heart, I will say that I am very safe and rarely exceed the posted speed limit… if it’s in view.

As soon as people heard about my intentions to ride, I was assaulted with terrible stories from concerned co-workers, friends and family. It seems that everyone on motorcycles die instantaneously when the bike moves into traffic. Connie’s fear was so evident, I thought she was going to hurl when she saw me for the first time; which, by the way, was the very first day of my license! I rode with some other bikers over 130 miles after work… into the late evening, and didn’t set a key to my car for over 2 weeks! How incredible is that?

Ok, Connie was pretty stressed out, so for her I bought a couple dog tags naming her as the emergency contact. One tag is on my life vest for kayaking, the other on my saddle bags for riding. I’ve ridden in all sorts of conditions now, and have had the dreams of my youth realized. Yet the fact that I’m dressed in black leather, and have the appearance of one you’d rather not tangle with, admittedly has come with a close call or two, which is probably from drivers attempting to rid the road of biker-trash more than complete unawareness of their surroundings.

The adventure of riding comes with rewards such as participation in the Veteran’s Day parade and a toy-run for a local charity. It also comes with flying debris, awful smells, and blissful escapes from hoards of traffic. Long, lonely stretches of winding roads are indeed some of the best parts of riding; the call of the open road has beckoned for far too long.

So as I head to the mountains, the rivers, the beaches, and roads, allow me a quote in closing:

“There are risks and costs to a program of action. But they are far less than the long-range risks and costs of comfortable inaction.”
~John F. Kennedy



Hope you have a great Christmas, and a wonderful, safe and eventful coming year!


Merry Christmas!

Christmas letter 2004

Dear Family & Friends,

Merry Christmas!

(It’s a little long…sorry)

I sat down to write out Christmas cards to send to the few people in my life who mean the most, and found there really aren’t that many people whom I place into that category. So here I am, writing a little letter to those few lucky (unlucky?) people who get to hear about some of my strange adventures in life, and occasionally partake in the adventures themselves. It’s to the traumatized family members of those nuts (I mean friends that agreed to adventure with me in the first place) that I extend my most humble apologies. I really can’t say ‘it won’t happen again’, because it very well might! So, I apologize for the past year of undue stress, worry, pain, etc… I’ll be apologizing again next Christmas, for sure.

So what do people put in letters like this? I don’t really know. There are certainly some things that would be deemed ‘inappropriate’ subject matter for a Christmas letter, so I’ll avoid those details with respect for tender eyes. But aren’t these letters supposed to be dry and full of facts which may or may not be inflated by a small dose of pride? Let me try that for a moment:

“Well, I turned down Harvard Business again. I really wish they’d just leave me alone. They know I’m attending Western Baptist College, starting in January.”

That was fun! I little white lie with a little white truth… I might be able to run with this. Let’s try another:

“I bought a townhouse in Corvallis this last May…” I’m not sure where to go with that. L Maybe I’ll come back to it later.

Okay, here’s a brief rundown of some events that shook my world just a bit. Again, I apologize to the families….

In May I made a trip with Brother (in-law) Rick to the sand dunes in Florence Oregon. There were many signs ‘from above’ that we should have seen as bad omens, but we didn’t. There were many times we could have turned back, but we didn’t. There were many warnings from others that I should have remembered, but didn’t.

Okay, I got a little overzealous with the gas peddle. True. Maybe I could have eased-off the gas peddle instead of gunning it up that hill. I may never be accused of doing ‘the right thing’, and I’m okay with that now. Though the twelve foot nose dive wasn’t exactly on our agenda for the day, it turned out to be a great bonding experience. Yes, we had some bruises. Yes, our pride took a hit. Sister Connie (Rick’s honey) even called us to jokingly see if we needed an ambulance. “No” Rick answered honestly, holding onto his heavily bruised chest the whole time. But looking back, we were certainly being watched over during our entire glorious journey. No doubt about that! We just happened to have the right equipment, tools, and replacement parts to get going again. Rick drove the second time; right to the top of a 50+ foot drop off! Together, we had a sudden and painful realization: we had entered the Dunes of Death. I’m betting that’s what the word ‘Florence’ means in the local Indian tongue. We danced at death’s door and limped home afterward.

Then, once-upon-a-time, Rick (yes, Rick. You’d think he’d learn from the Dunes of Death experience) and I went to Newport to do some crabbing in the 11-foot aluminum boat Brother Mike had given to me. Just the thought of going out on the bay with that little boat was concerning enough, which you’ll find in the next event. So instead of risking the bay in that little boat, we changed direction toward another little boat.

This other little boat just happened to be an inflatable speed boat that exceeded 60 mph out on the open ocean! Ok, the thought of moving from a small boat with a 7 ½ horsepower motor to one with a V-8 might be bothering some readers. It was one of the best adventures I’ve ever been on, but there’s a catch. What? A catch you say? Yep. You see, I was feeling extremely nauseous BEFORE we even left my house that morning. It could have been a sign… but you’ve already found that we don’t look for warnings and omens when we have our minds set on having an adventure. We should probably think about doing that one of these times.

Anyhow, the nausea just kept growing and growing. The cool breeze with the sweet stench of spoiled fish on the bay front really didn’t help. The finger vs. throat didn’t payout in the local pub’s restroom. Deep breathing exercises – nope… The persistent question from Rick: “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Okay, I did it. That little boat rolled and swayed gently at the dock as we assumed our positions. I felt the bulge forming in my throat that held great potential for terrible embarrassment. Imagine letting it go before even leaving the dock! No, that’s not what happened. My pride (and a clenched jaw) held back that growing possibility at the dock. Before long we were cruising out of the bay and into the open ocean. This little boat flew through the air, launched off of cresting waves, landed with such force one lady was almost tossed out. Actually, I’m not sure we shared that part of the story with Rick’s family. Anyway, it was great! Until we would stop and roll with the swells…up… down…swaying back…swaying forth… Ugh! I did my best to be cheerful, but the reality of my nausea was all too present. Relax I told my self over, and over, and over. Before long we were jumping waves and racing up and down the beautiful Oregon coast leaving my illness behind.

The crabbing had to wait for another day, so here’s that story:

This next trip to Newport bay held many adventures for me. It was a beautiful three-day weekend, and I was determined to do as much crabbing as I could. The first day was off of the dock. It was pretty uneventful really. The second day I brought a friend along (who will not be getting this letter) to try out the little aluminum boat on the bay. We had our bait, we had our baskets, we had lunch… it was going to be great. Well, it was…for a little while. The little boat was just a bit smaller than what should have been out on the water. We pulled in about ½ dozen keepers, but the waves were cresting over the bow and I think the drain plug was leaking a bit. I know… ‘It’s a sign to get off the water, quick!’

Well, I didn’t see it as a warning; I saw it as a challenge to stay afloat in the midst of uncertain and hazardous circumstances. The wind picked up and was pushing us toward the back of the bay with almost as much force as the little motor could drive us along. I wouldn’t use the word ‘panic’, but when I ripped the pull-cord out of the top of the motor I was a bit concerned. Fortunately the motor was running, so we made our way back to my pickup and I made the repair. Unfortunately when we started heading out to retrieve the crab baskets, the prop hit a rock and sheared a pin that wasn’t suppose to shear! The wind pushed us back into the sand, right by the truck. I couldn’t make the repair, and it was getting pretty dark, so we packed up everything and left. Yes, the baskets were left alone for the crabs to feast all night long on the bait without fear of capture.

The very next day a different friend joined me on a rescue mission. You see, I managed to not only have a great crab feast the night prior, but I also fixed the motor! I won’t mention HOW I fixed it; just that it IS fixed and probably will NEVER break again. So, the rescue mission was an outstanding success, and with the help of some generous boaters who gave us an entire tuna carcass, it was a very prosperous crabbing day. The waves were easily handled by the little boat, and the wind was crisp but relatively calm. We did find out that tuna doesn’t come out of blue jeans…ever. The day ended with a great crab feast and a lot of leftovers.

Not too long after crabbing, I met a guy at work named Chris who just happened to enjoy white water rafting. So we joined his wife and their two friends and hit the North Santiam River at Mehama Oregon. If you can recall September 18th, it was a Saturday with nothing but rain, rain, rain. Oh, it was mighty cold too. The river reports for that day revealed later that the river volume, height and velocity were nearly double its average for that time of year. This translates into a wild ride, far better than we could have hoped for. Class II rapids became class III rapids, just for us. Class IV rapids are small water falls, and class V rapids are guaranteed death-traps for all who pass.

The class II & III rapids were so numerous that we barely got through one before we hit the next. Now THAT is my kind of rafting. Where’s the catch? You’re asking. Well, there’s several. Ok…here they are: My raft, that ancient Mayan artifact from the days of Montezuma, apparently has a leak somewhere. Chris’s friends were on the front of my raft, and I was steering from the back. How’s this a problem? Well, the raft tried to fold itself in half several times while coursing through the rapids. Yep, that was pretty exciting. The friends (don’t remember their names) were pretty stressed the first couple times that happened. I found a strange sense of evil delight at their plight…

We did the first five miles twice, but the friends weren’t real excited about doing the final 10.5 miles, so they jumped ship. Being a good friend, Chris’s wife departed with them and left me and Chris to brave the final stretch by ourselves. This time I jumped into Chris’s wife’s inflatable kayak, while he stayed in his. So they went one way and we headed off into the wild unknown to brave whatever may rise to meet us.

Okay, I admit. We probably should have got out with their friends… hind-sight 20/20, right? The signs were there: Don’t go! They’re clear now, but we had our focus. I think there’s a common theme I’m seeing about my adventures… Anyhow, we went forth like two men charting unknown lands. Of course, we ventured off the main river and found ourselves on the FAR side of a diversion dam that was overflowing (not normal) due to the excessive volume of the river. Our first sight of this death trap was a really long wall of mist rising off the water in front of us. Normally a short wall would have been stubbed above the water to prevent accidental trips over the edge, but not this day.

Chris and his high-quality kayak made it across the great expanse to an outcrop of boulders that were the safe haven for people like us. Well, the kayak I had wasn’t the high-end sort and I paddled my heart out to make it across. For every foot I moved closer to the boulders, I moved three feet closer to the water fall. Yes, I found myself dancing at deaths door AGAIN! (I really need to stop doing this)

I managed to run the kayak’s nose onto the last rock available to me. Without landing there, I would have had only seconds to line the kayak up for a nose dive. Without Chris’s quick attention to my predicament, I may not have been able to stay nosed onto that rock; the strong current was pulling me away. So we carried our kayaks around the diversion dam of death and found that it held not just one 8+ foot fall, but two! Of course there were rocks at the bottom of the final drop, so if the falls didn’t get me, the rocks were sure to finish me off. Nice thought, eh?

The rest of the trip was great. We did almost 22 miles total that day. I didn’t realize though that when I was done with the trip, the trip wasn’t done with me. The next day I woke to my right leg hurting just a bit. The pain flared from a small worn area on my right Achilles tendon. By the end of the day I could barely walk. By the next morning the pain was excruciating. Oh, did I forget to mention the red line that stretched up to my knee? Yep. I was in serious danger of losing my right leg!

I was ‘directed’ to go urgent care by my supervisors when I couldn’t walk down the hall to a staff meeting. The doctors took instant action and flooded my poor, sensitive body with large vials of antibiotics injected right into my butt cheek! Ouch! The pain killers were pretty cool though. While I sat at home wondering if my leg would be around for Christmas, I wrote a small book for Johnathon’s 10th birthday…thanks to the elevated level of consciousness from the pain killers. I think it’s also coined as ‘being stoned’. I prefer the former definition. Fortunately, my leg decided to stick around to see what the next adventure might hold.

The best part of my whole year is that my boys are back in Oregon! We spent the entire summer together and now I spend every-other weekend with them, plus several whole weeks scattered through the year. I really don’t know how to express myself when it comes to having my boys nearby. I know I’ve put myself in a lot of difficult situations, but being without my boys was the worst situation of all. Now they’re back and I cherish them so very much.

Thank you all for such a great year! I can’t wait to see what next year will hold. Who’s willing to go on the next adventure? What!? No volunteers? Come on. How bad could it be…?




Merry Christmas!